


Strays

by Anonymous



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 50s, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood, Canon Era, Developing Relationship, Gen, Immortality, M/M, Modern Era, One Shot, Open to Interpretation, Present Tense, Time Skips, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 15:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15910725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Spot and Race have a long history together(and one that will keep on going)





	Strays

**Author's Note:**

> So the names are still pronounced as "Anthony" and "Sean". How they appear in this story is how they might've been spelt in the Dark Ages...

It’s the one memory that remains clear in Antony’s mind. 

It was his sixteenth winter, a year that now fell into a time called the Dark Ages. If only historians knew how true those words were.

He’s running, gasping for breath, but he can’t stop. Not with the shadow that follows two steps behind him. The church is supposed to be a sanctuary and now it’s nothing but a trap. Tripping over an uneven stone, Antony falls to the floor and then he’s torn away from the glow of the candles, his screams echoing off the high ceilings of the cathedral. 

~

When Antony wakes, he shoots up, his breathing erratic. He’s thirsty and when he realizes just what it is he wants to drink, Antony heaves, though nothing comes up. Burying his face in his hands, the last thing he remembers is a sunken face hovering over him before everything went black. 

A touch on his back makes him jump and Antony whips his head to the offender, knocking their hand away. 

“Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

It’s a boy around his age, a face much too serious, and Antony is hesitant to take the offering. The boy pushes the cup closer to Antony until he can no longer resist the smell, greedily drinking down the contents of the cup.

He should be disgusted, spitting this all out, but instead, the blood courses through his veins and he indeed feels better. Stronger. 

“Where am I? Who are you?” Antony asks, accepting the blanket the boy wraps around his shoulders. 

The boy swallows, shifting under Antony’s stare and shakes his head. “The darkness, he...it’s a game to him. Turning us into this. I’ve only been turned for a year now, but if I could go back to how I was…”

The boy shivers, taking a step back from Antony.

“My name is Seaghán. I was taken from my home, turned into a bloodthirsty monster. The same fate has been endowed onto you, except you were already here.”

Taking a deep breath in, Antony struggles to understand everything. What he and Seaghán are, why he’s been cursed to this fate. 

“You’re not from here, are you? Your voice…” Seaghán cuts in to Antony’s thoughts. 

“No. Family was forced here,” Antony says, his body growing numb. “Will we always need it? The blood?”

Seaghán is slow to nod and his gaze darts around the room. “Animals are enough to satiate me. I can’t kill another human just for that.”

The first of Antony’s tears spill from his eyes, his sobs silent. His life wasn’t perfect, but he was happy. He had parents, brothers and sisters. Now all that had been snatched all for some entity’s sick enjoyment. 

Seaghán’s hand lands on his back again and Antony welcomes the touch this time, his only comfort in the bleakness that consumes him.

* * *

Years pass, the seasons change, but Antony and Seaghán do not. 

Seaghán teaches Antony all he knows, what they must do to blend in with humans, but Antony’s attempts are feeble at best. He wishes someone would stake him, to spare him from his fate, yet whenever he tries to put himself in harm’s way, Seaghán is there to pull him out. 

Antony tries his best to accept the company of his one friend. It carries on well enough, the two taking to the streets at night, taking the lives of abusers, corrupt leaders. There are times where Antony begins to enjoy himself. Where he and Seaghán move beyond the simplicity of verbal exchanges.

That is, until the pleasantries sweep over, when charged emotions turn into screaming fights. Soon, the insults dig too deep, used against each other as weapons that leave more than just a scar on their minds.

Antony cannot take another moment of this and he storms out of the small place shared with Seaghán, his feet taking him to the shipyards where he buys his passage to America. 

Now that the war is over, the colonies having declared their independence, he figures it’s time to visit the far off country he has only heard of. Too young to fight in the war they had said. Antony wants to laugh at this. If only they knew, but then again, he only has a couple hundred years of hiding in his pocket. 

“Antony, wait,” Seaghán calls, his rough accent having twisted over the years. 

Papers tight in his hand, Antony turns to Seaghán, wondering how he had been found so easily. 

“Please, don’t go,” Seaghán reaches out, stopping a few feet away from Antony. “I...I want you to stay. We can talk.”

“Hundreds of years of talking hasn’t done much for us,” Antony responds, shaking his head. “I think we’ve had too much of each other. Let me do this and maybe we’ll find our way back to each other.”

Seaghán’s hand drops, but he gives Antony a stern nod. If there’s one thing Antony has to be grateful for, it’s how well Seaghán understands him. How he’s learned to not press for answers.

“Keep yourself safe in America then,” Seaghán says, quiet and unsure. “No telling what might happen.”

“Indeed not,” Antony chuckles, his heart feeling light for a few spare moments. 

He can’t help himself. Stepping over to Seaghán, Antony gives him a tight hug, wondering why now of all times, he is doubting his decisions. 

Their goodbyes are muttered under breath and Antony thinks he sees something more, but Seaghán turns away first. With nothing more to say, Antony disappears into the foggy night, hating how his mind screams at him to turn back.

* * *

The lodging house is warm, the company pleasant, and Antony wishes he could stay here forever. He could if he’s careful enough.

Antony watches the other boys, chewing on his cigar as his mind takes him to far off places. How long has it been since he last saw Seaghán? The question is trivial considering how many nights Seaghán plagues his dreams, but Antony still mulls it over. Maybe at last he’s found the perfect hiding spot. Where Seaghán might not ever look.

“Racetrack,” someone drags him from his thoughts and he can see some boys shuffling towards the center of the room.

Hopping up on his bunk next to his friend, Blink, Antony can see the confusion on everyone’s faces and keeps his mouth shut. 

“There’s a new leader in Brooklyn,” Jack, his leader, speaks to the room. “Don’t know much about him, but he’s something big so says the other boroughs.” 

The boys all nod their understanding as Jack explains as much as he knows and Blink nudges Antony. 

“You seem awful calm about it, Race.”

Antony shrugs, pulling the cigar from his mouth. “Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen,” he replies, the practiced accent rolling off his tongue with ease.

Blink eyes him warily, but says nothing to dispute Antony’s claim. After all, it’s not as if Blink knows Antony has witnessed the rise and fall of kings, conflicts and illnesses that have taken one life after another. 

At any rate, Antony hopes this new leader won’t impede his usual pattern. He’s taken to Sheepshead, his bet (as pointless as they may be) a new way to work his mind. 

Feeling his hunger creep up, Antony climbs down from the bunk, waving his goodbye to the room. He’s thankful no one questions where he goes at odd hours of the day and when he’s in the dusty streets, he turns to the bridge. 

He’s curious. 

He knows he’ll be able to find some stray squirrel in Brooklyn just as well as in Manhattan and with a nod, Antony starts his trek across the bridge. He imagines wild and speculative traits to go with this new Brooklyn leader, wondering if they’ve taken care of things for good. When he finally reaches the other side, a familiar newsie greets him, asking his business. 

“Want to introduce myself to the new leader is all,” Antony stands proud, holding onto his vest. 

The newsie raises their eyebrow and motions for Antony to follow as they lead him to the river. Pointing to a figure standing at the edge of the dock, the newsie then rushes from the scene and Antony is slow to approach. 

He’d know that stance anywhere and in the fading light of the day, he can see the defined features that welcomed him his first day into this mess. 

“Hello, stranger,” Antony lets his accent fall, taking his place next to Seaghán on the dock. “What do they call you?”

Uncrossing his arms, a smirk dances on Seaghán’s face and he pushes his cap up. “Spot. Spot Conlon. You?”

“Racetrack Higgins,” Antony holds out his hand and Seaghán laughs a little as he shakes it. 

“Good to see you’re doing well. Have you been here long?”

Antony goes to nod his head and then scowls when he remembers what long means to Seaghán. “Just fifty years.”

Seaghán nods, his look far off and distant. “I followed after you as soon as I could. Tried to catch up to you.”

Antony blinks. He knew Seaghán needed him, but not this desperately. “So, is this Brooklyn stint your way of finding me?”

“Big words,” Seaghán tries to grin before he looks at the sky. “Not really. I hurt the leader and the newsies just accepted me as the new one.”

As long as they’ve known each other, Seaghán has never used the word “killed”. He finds it distasteful, undignified.

“Yeah, he was pretty bad, wasn’t he?” Antony asks, spotting the first star in the sky. 

“You could’ve taken him. He wasn’t much of a fight at all.”

Antony shrugs, digging around in his pockets for a cigar. “I was caught up in Manhattan. I knew what he was doing, but I couldn’t become the leader just like that. The city’s eyes were on me.”

Seaghán stares at him before taking a step closer, nodding his understanding. Antony forgets his cigar and meets him halfway, their sides touching as they turn to the small waves lapping against the dock.

He’s missed this. Their nights of talk where they could lay tangled up in each other and pour their hearts out. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Seaghán mutters, his arm wrapping around Antony’s shoulders. “Even if we just have tonight.”

“We have more than that,” Antony smiles, glancing at Seaghán. “I don’t plan on leaving for a few more years.”

Seaghán’s eyes light up before he gives Antony’s shoulders a squeeze. “All right.”

Antony doesn’t know what to think. What they are. Companions for centuries, now they feel like old lovers reminiscing the past. Except they never were lovers, not in the conventional sense, and the thought carves itself into Antony’s mind. 

Seaghán’s gaze has turned wistful, small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Even without the aging, Antony can see how tired he is, but more than that, he sees the familiarity of adventure. Just like always, Antony wants to follow and he almost leans in to capture Seaghán’s lips with his own. 

He won’t. 

Whenever he feels that tug, Antony pulls away and he’ll keep on doing that. What they have works. 

It’ll only be a matter of time before they separate again.

* * *

One war, then another, Antony wonders if the world will ever find peace. 

He sits at the sidelines, his physical appearance never old enough to find his place in the chaos. So, he fights at home, wondering if Seaghán has been able to sneak past the hardened rules. 

Sirens ring outside his window and Antony looks down at the street as a police car speeds by. Every day, he’s blown away. Wagons to cars, quills to pens, he feels as if he’ll never catch up. He often yearns for the past, where he knew what he was doing. 

He’s aimless now. Moving every few years, never in the same place twice, he’s seen friends come and go, tries to visit their graves when he passes through. 

He misses all of them. The boys at the lodging house, the men at the factory, but he won’t take a stake to himself. Something keeps him bound to this world. Maybe it’s Seaghán, maybe it’s a sense of righteousness. Even if he is a creature of darkness, he doesn’t have to make himself that way. He can become something good, beyond his insatiable bloodlust. 

Stepping away from the window, Antony sits down on his bed and lets out a sigh. Some day, he’ll go and he hopes he’ll be ready when the time comes.

* * *

Breathing in the night air, Antony stares at the skyline, distant cars rumbling and honking in the distance. 

Up here, on the roof of his apartment, he feels free. A part of him wants to climb onto the edge, to just jump, but he reels himself in just before he does so. He’s not going to test his immortality so soon.

Pulling out his phone from his pocket, Antony tries to distract himself and shakes his head at how easy this all is. That now, Seaghán is just a phone call away. 

Bringing up his number, Antony stares at his picture, a hand-drawn portrait gifted to him one night when Seaghán showed up out of the blue, only to leave the next morning. 

With a swallow, Antony taps on his number and holds the phone to his ear, hand shaking. 

“Antony,” Seaghán’s voice flows through, tired, but not unpleasant. 

“Hi,” Antony breathes. “How are you?”

Seaghán laughs and Antony can see how his hair moves with his shaking head. “Is that all you called for? To ask how I am?”

“Sure. What’s wrong with that?”

“That’s not what we are, Race.”

A nickname from the past, Antony’s chest clenches but he keeps his tears at bay. “What are we then? Just some friends that pass by? Nothing more than strangers now?”

He’s tried to hide it. Ever since the beginning, he’s shoved his heart to the side, but Antony can no longer keep it to himself. 

He loves Seaghán with all of his rotten heart. 

Loves his wild spirit, his blank stare after a kill, the way he laughs. Antony wants everything, but Seaghán won’t offer him that much. He knows Seaghán is comfortable. Centuries of comfortable. Taking a breath in, Antony figures there’s no better time to lose Seaghán and his voice trembles. 

“I love you.”

The silence on the other end tears at what remains of Antony’s heart and he thinks to hang up before he hears Seaghán sigh. 

“I know.”

It’s not the worst thing he could hear. 

Nodding to no one, Antony doesn’t know where to carry the conversation and he clears his throat. “All right, talk to you soon maybe,” he manages, not waiting for Seaghán’s reply as he hangs up. 

As much as it hurts, Antony is relieved he told Seaghán. It wasn’t a secret after all, but now, Antony finds himself wishing Seaghán had done something other than pass over it. Leaving him in the morning, abandoning him for years. 

Antony’s screen lights up and he freezes at the address that stares back up at him. It’s not too far from where he is. In fact, with a brisk pace, Antony could be there in ten minutes. 

Letting his laugh ring in the air, Antony throws his head back, pushing back the haunting memories that threaten to come forward. A hand has been dealt, an offer fresh for the taking lays in front of him. Seaghán always goes about things the hard way, but Antony is ready for the challenge and his soul lifts.

Eternity might not be so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> i forgot i wrote this lmao
> 
> [Tchumblr](http://safarikalamari.tumblr.com)


End file.
